


Death Will Never Part Us

by Potatochutney



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Assassination Plot(s), Blood and Injury, Brother-Sister Relationships, Character(s) of Color, Curse Breaking, Curses, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Gender Concepts, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Eventual Relationships, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Magic, Multi, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery Character(s), Nonbinary Dwarves, POC dwarves, Platonic Romance, Platonic Soulmates, Queerplatonic Relationships, Slow Build, Soul-Crushing, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potatochutney/pseuds/Potatochutney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To lose your one is a pain unimaginable, to curse yourself and your kingdom as a result is foolishness, but the Valar are more forgiving, and justice will be served.</p>
<p>Over many years, the lives that Thorin had developed for his family in the Blue Mountains will be changed forever, because the feeling of one's soulmate is not one that can be forgotten.</p>
<p>(Re-write of a fic named 'we shall not rest, nor find peace)<br/>Thorin's One is found dead, dear sweet Bilbo, murdered. A story spanning several decades following the path of trying to bring justice to the Dwarf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I promise there will be a happy ending. It'll just take forever to get there.  
> My original fic has been deleted, and I am writing it again as this fic. Plot stays the same, but with some variations.

The mightiest Dwarf Kingdom, Erebor, lay just beyond Rhovanion and the Mannish realm of Dale. Within the mountain, happiness and wealth was in abunance, all Dwarfs were wealthy, and all were able to assist other kingdoms. All had food, and none had sickness. Dale and their near fishing village, Laketown, were thriving on the trade. It was fair, and able to send coin to other Dwarfish kingdoms, such as the Red and Blue Mountains, and the Iron Hills.

Within Erebor, the Royal family were flourishing. Thrór and his wife Frona were ruling now, after over two hundred years of marriage. Their son, Thráin was married, with three children. Thorin, Frerin and Dís. Dís was the kindest, aged only eighty-five, while Thorin was ninety-seven, and Frerin a mere Fifty.

But it was the talk of the kingdom! Prince Thorin had found his One, the one carved of the same stone, the perfect fit to his heart. And they made a handsome couple, for they were both handsome, and they were even more handsome together. His One was from the Red mountains, son of a mining family, their only child, stiff black ringlets in his hair and curls cascading down his beard, skin the colour of copper. Very well to do, very well beloved for his kindness and love of helping others. He had ended up meeting Thorin during a meeting of court by pure accident, with a peculiar feeling bubbling in his throat and felt the huge tug on his heart that could only be attributed to the moment that a Dwarf met the One Mahal had created for them, the other part of their soul. That, and the ache of having been walked straight into and sprawled across the floor by a very late prince. It was only a matter of the courting months before the dwarf was able to come and become a permanent member of Erebor’s daily life. He was adored by the royal family and the public alike, the wedding date was due to be announced at any time to match with the correct contracts. None had any protests against the union, none could find any reason against the union, they were perfect for one another, and balanced out one another's temperaments perfectly. Thorin's One could be fussy, and snappish, and sometimes far too stressed, but Thorin in return could overlook small details, could be pushy and demanding and too laidback. They matched well.

Yes, all was well in Erebor.

 

Except, where evil lingers, it spreads.

It was small at first, barely noticeable in the first five years of Thorin's courtship. But Thorin noticed how his grandfather's eyes lingered for too long on the gold, how he counted, and recounted, and counted again. How he sent fewer and fewer golden coins to the Ered Luin's rebuilding, how he would hit his grandmother in fits of rage, and the next day she would have a new crown presented to her.

No amount of crowns made up for what he did. He had always been unwell, always had many fears that were allowed to burrow within his heart. Rumours always spread about what the cause of the Durin madness. His grandfather was unhealthy, and it would only be a matter of time before he would damage Erebor, and its reputation, or worse...

 

But for now, joy and wealth was spreading, as was his love for Isimun-halk.

 

Everlasting blue, blue was their colour, and Thorin had been presented with a blue rose, each petal a different stone, all held together with blue iron and safely fastened onto Thorin's clothing. Small blue iron clasps, carved with roses adorned his One's hair. They would never be parted, nothing could stop their happiness.

 


	2. Blood On The Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for blood and vomit, obviously.  
> In this AU, children of dwarven royalty are genderless until they come of age and decide, so Dís has only just decided to be female  
> MURDER MURDER MURDER MURDER!!!

Thorin's eyes snapped awake in the darkness of their room, candles long burned out, the room's furniture transformed into vague shapes. The fireplace was barely glowing with embers, but were extinguished in a moment of gust.

He wasn't sure what had happened, and the sun had not risen into the kingdom yet, so he rolled over. His bed was cold, and a chill swallowed his body, heart pounding in his ears, stomach churning. He was going to be sick. The young prince dashed for the bathroom, heaving into the basin, the taste of blood and acid in his throat, but the vomit was just dinner from before he fell asleep. After rinsing his mouth out, he grumbled quietly, heading back to bed, eyes shut tightly as he waited for sleep to take him once more, for the discomfort to leave him. The candles that should have burned through the night were smoking in the corner of the room, as if just put out. The uneasy feeling should pass, hopefully.

It didn't.

Four hours later, Dís threw herself into her older brother's room, not even changed from her nightgown, hair unbraided and beard in disarray. She started sobbing as soon as the door shut and as any responsible brother would, Thorin got up and gathered her in his arms.

“Thorin. Don't go out there, stay in the palace. Please. Please, Thorin. Don't.” She whispered, face crushed against his chest. “Frerin's still away. Let me deal with this. They're coming back soon, so let me do this.” The young Dwarrowdam begged, her voice cracking from the strain.

“Sister. Sister, please calm down. Tell me what's happened, I can try to fix this for you, but you have to tell me. Did you kill their cat?” He asked, pushing her away to stroke across her cheeks, neatening out the patchy beard.

Her icy eyes welled up again, and she shut them, shaking her mousy head. He could feel something wrong, deep, deep in his bones. Something wasn't right.

“Thorin, just sit down. Now.” She begged, pushing him onto the bed he wasn't supposed to share with Bilbo, but almost always did.

He swallowed, sitting as she asked, as she took his rough hands in her own smooth ones.

“He was killed, down at the mines.” She whispered. “The foreman found him this morning. He's...It's horrific.”

 

His stomach fell away. He'd awoken at the time of death, and done nothing, thought nothing of the strange empty sensation. He should have been there. He could have caught whoever had hurt what was his forever. The young prince pushed past his sister to throw up in the bathroom, shoulders heaving. He'd felt it and done nothing. He should have known!

“I'm going to speak to court. You stay here.” She insisted, coming in to braid his hair up out of his face with deft fingers, the braiding style Bilbo had taught her to do. She secured them with blue clasps, and wrapped her arms around her brother's large shoulders, resting her head against his back. “It's okay. It's going to be okay. We'll catch whoever did this, Isimunguzuz.”

“Get out. I need to be alone.” He growled, jaw jutting out. She sighed, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I'll be addressing the court in an hour for you.” She murmured, bumping her forehead against him before wiping her eyes and marching out.

 

Dead. His heart, dead. Every dwarrow knew that you could be happy without your One if you'd found and lost them, but he'd found his One, and now nothing seemed right. Nothing could replace him, certainly. He'd abdicate, he couldn't rule alone, he couldn't be a leader when he wasn't tethered to something to keep his mind clear.

Dís had said that he'd been found in the mines, and Thorin knew he was supposed to be checking over the ledgers to see how much metal could be spared, and how much stone could be spared, before the little Dwarf would be well on his way, sneaking into the palace rooms. Balin and Dwalin always turned a blind eye to his creeping, and let him go if they caught him. But now Thorin needed to see him, needed to see his One's face. The young prince threw on an old coat, and crept from the room, darting through the palace until he could get to the hatch that they'd used to sneak to one another. Dís wouldn't know he was gone until it was too late. Perfect.

The stone rose on his coat bounced with every step he took, it was a sapphire, beautiful and cracked, but a sapphire all the same, blue iron filling up the broken seams.

He ran as soon as he could, through the streets and alleyways, not even the thieves bothering him as he charged towards the mines. They were within sight, the guards standing on patrol would have to let him through. The ground was dirty, mud tracked into every part of the cheap stone floor.

Civilians, normal people already had heard what had happened, and tokens had started to be left outside the main mine, letters, beads, carved flowers, tokens of respect. Bilbo had been well loved by the people of Erebor, because he was like them, and wasn't of the mentality that he was above them. Thorin shook his head, marching forward towards the mine.

He was caught by the waist by a thick pair of clean tattooed arms, and hoisted up off of his feet. “I don't think this would be wise, Thorin.” Came Dwalin's rumbling voice, holding fast as he thrashed in his cousin's grip.

“Let me go. Let me go, I need to see him! I need to see what happened.” He begged, kicking at his enormous friend. Dwalin sighed, placing him down, before shaking his head.

“It's not pretty. Not at all.” He murmured, but Thorin ran ahead anyway. He needed to see what happened. Thorin wasn't as fast as Frerin or Dís, but Dwalin was the slowest of the four. The guards parted as their angry prince barged through, towards the next set of guards. They both stepped aside, allowing Thorin into the small office that served as home for the accounting staff.

 

The smell of blood hit him before the sight did. No, not the smell of blood. The stench of death, death in its purest form. It made his stomach flip, but he'd already been sick once today, he didn't have anything to force up.

Cold blood, dried blood, congealed blood. All on the floor in front of his beloved. Dead. Dried into his doublet, into the overcoat he'd borrowed from Thorin just a week ago, when he snuck out on a cold morning.

The prince fell to his knees, choked noise leaving him as Dwalin reached the doorway, panting for breath.

Bilbo.

Bilbo was lying dead, beard shorn, throat slit from ear to ear, hair clipped and ripped from his head.

Desecrated. His eyes were already clouded over, lips already pale, body already cold and stiff. He let out a strangled noise, like a dying, wounded animal as his hands cupped Bilbo's cheeks. His heart felt as dead as the one before him. His hands already felt sticky from the blood. He sobbed, and Dwalin laid a hand on his shoulder lightly.

Thorin tore the stone rose from his coat, it was only one of many that he'd had made for him over the five years of their courtship. Bilbo would never make another, or see the garland of silver and iron roses he'd made for the cold body. Oh Mahal, he'd never be able to marry Bilbo, never grow old with him, or learn every little habit he had.

“Cousin.” He murmured, as Thorin quaked against the dead dwarf. “He'll be buried in the tombs of the royal family.”

Thorin nodded, hands coming to rest over the darker, cold and clenched ones. “An animal, not a dwarrow or 'dam could have done this. An animal. Rabid animals will be put down.” He snarled, clenching the cold hands.

A bead dropped from the body, it bounced, the sound of metal ringing through the room as the glinting little thing rolled into the corner. The two dwarrow paused, before they both scrambled after it. Dwalin caught it first, holding it up to the light.

Thorin's stomach dropped.

“The Royal insignia.” They whispered at the same time and Dwalin looked at Thorin, as they realised what this meant.

“We need to see Lady Arin.” Dwalin murmured.

They hid the bead in Dwalin's boot, as the two began their journey deeper into the criminal underbelly. They had spies everywhere, they'd know who came and who went from the palace, and from the mines that night. She wasn't Dwalin's favourite distant relative, but they needed her more than she needed them.

Thorin had never met Lady Arin, only knew that she was descended from bastard nobles, that Durin's elder brother had been the first in line until he had been reborn in Khazad-dum, and Durin's brother had married a poor girl and had his throne taken from beneath his feet, his children confined to a gilded tower within Khazad-dum. Of course, their line would spread, and they posed a real threat to Thorin's family. They ran their own councils, stealing from Royalty, allowing whores to have guaranteed safety, giving food to beggars in the dirtiest parts of Erebor. They were unsavory, but did good for the people of Erebor.

 

Dís neatly folded her hands on her lap. After deciding, she had gone to the tailors and had several dresses made, and this one was the first she'd worn for a formal event. As a princess, she was intimidating, and she was strong. She had to be the figure of calmness, and gestured for a newly recruited guard to stand beside her at all times. She hadn't had the chance to learn his name yet, but he had gleaming golden hair, and that was enough for her to get the room's attention.

“Dwarrow, line of Durin, friends and cousins.” She addressed them calmly. “Your prince, Thorin, has suffered a terrible loss today. Bilbo, son of Bilor, of the Red Mountains has passed away. I am speaking on his behalf, as you can understand that he is not here to speak to our valued council at this crucial moment. I ask on his behalf that he is given room to breathe, and for any out of character behaviours to be overlooked, as he has lost the thing most dear to him.” She found her eyes drifting towards her mother and father, both nodding slowly, her father wiping his eyes while her mother looked as if she were absent, eyes as blank as her expression.

“Dwalin, son of our esteemed cousin Fundin, is currently leading the investigation into the murder, and his brother Balin, will be responsible for arranging the funeral rites for Bilbo, beloved of Thorin.” She added, with a few murmurs of assent rippling through the group.

“Our sincere apologies, Lady Dís. We hope that your brother will find his peace with this horrific incident.” Gloin stood, speaking for his branch of the family, before bowing low to the young princess.

“Thank you, cousin. I will tell Thorin that he is in your thoughts.” She grimaced, before nodding to the guard and taking her leave of the room.

 

“My Lady miss your majestic highness princess.” He guard stumbled over his words, and she couldn't help but smile.

“Please, just call me Dís, or Princess Dís if we're with other people.” She replied with a little catty smile, clearing her throat for a moment. “Now, my brave sir guard, it is wise to offer your arm when escorting a lady. You're very noble.”

He flushed, but nodded as he offered his arm.

“Y-you can just call me Tili, milady Dís.” He stammered, as she took his arm in a firm grasp.

“Tili, you're going to be my personal guard from now on. I need you to swear confidentiality, and fealty to me.” She asked, looking up at the somewhat lanky guardsman. He nodded, letting her guide their walk towards the private rooms of the royal family. Her private quarters.

“Yes milady. I promise, I won't betray you for all the gold in this mountain, Imunezulik, I swear upon Mahal himself.” He murmured, and her heart pounded in her ears, eyes welling up as soon as her door was shut, before her cold eyes locked with his warm brassy ones.

It was him. The one. Her One.

“Khiluzkunzek.” Dís whispered, before the guard pulled her against him, pressing a kiss to her opulent braided hair.

“It's going to be okay, princess.” He promised, as she began to sob against his chest. Thorin had lost his One, and she had lost a brother to death, and a brother to grief. Tili could be strong for his priceless gem, for he was the foundation, sturdy and secure. The Princess allowed her guard to lead her to bed, and hold her in his arms, rocking her slowly as she allowed herself to cry once more. She'd seen the body in the early hours, before even Dwalin had seen what had happened. She needed the reassurance, as she was now the most coherent Durin, and while she was made to endure, her One could bolster her strength and courage.

“I'll stay with you, forever. Anything you ask of me, I can do, or will do my best to see it done.” He promised. “I'm no royal, I don't have money or famous blood, but I'm steadfast, and strong, and fun, if you need me to be. I'll do anything asked of me in the courting contracts. But not yet, princess. You need to have your time to mourn before I let you try to romance a poor guard like me.” His voice rumbled from his chest and through her body. She sniffed, wiping her eyes with her sleeves before nodding.

“I'm lucky to have such a responsible tether.” She teased, and he wiped away the tears from her cheeks and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I'm the lucky one, I get to look at you. I may be a dull stone, but inside my heart I hold mithril.” Tili replied, kissing her nose gently. She laughed through the tears, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Mahal is kind, to have sent you to me right now. When I need you most. Losing one best friend, to gain another” The princess let her eyes slip shut, moving to rest her head against his shoulder. He hummed a quiet lullaby to her, cradling her in his arms as she gradually drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

Lady Arin lived in catacombs dug into the mountainside, above a small unsuspecting tavern. She had two children, the eldest was roughly fifteen, and the youngest was five at most, according to Fundin's intel on the current mainline.

The tavern's patrons froze when Dwalin walked in, before relaxing when Thorin entered, bloodstained. It wasn't an arrest or a raid. They could continue their unscrupulous work and dealings, after a few offered their condolences to their prince, a few pats on the shoulder and offers of drinks. He brushed them all off as Dwalin headed towards a 'Dam with hair red as blood, and a beard white as mithril. She smiled, black axe resting against the table, keen eyes taking in every detail that they could.

Dwalin bowed to her before gesturing for Thorin to come closer. He sat down gingerly, still in a state of shock, blood coating his clothing.

“Cousin. Allow me to extend my deepest apologies. The loss of your One is a grief none should have to shoulder at such a young age.” She took his hand, patting the back of it gently. Thorin made a soft noise in his throat, as a young child approached, hair the colour of carmine rubies. They looked at Dwalin, and then Thorin, before raising their arms to Dwalin.

“Up.” The child demanded, and Dwalin sighed, hoisting up the small dwarfling.

“That's Norin, my youngest child. They're a little rude, but friendly.” Arin insisted, before raising the pitch of her voice. “Norin, poppet. Say hello to cousin Dwalin before you ask anything.”

“Hello cousin Dwalin. You're going to hold me now. Thank you.” They said, before tugging at his ear, trying to climb up higher on the enormous dwarf.

“And tell cousin Thorin you're very sorry for what happened to his loved one.” Arin added, and the child huffed.

“I'm very sorry, cousin Thorin, for what happened to your loved one.” They recited, before standing on Dwalin's shoulders, fingers brushing against the tavern ceiling.

“Come with me, we should talk in the back rooms. Away from any listening gossiping fishwives.” Arin raised her voice towards the end, and many of the Dwarrow in the room pretended to be very interested in their ale or a shiny coin that needed extra shining, as she hoisted her axe up on one shoulder, and raised her arm out as she walked past Dwalin, Norin launching off of his shoulders and onto their mother's arm, clinging on with a mad giggle.

 

The tunnels twisted and turned, as Arin lead them into her private chambers. Inside, another child with white hair was clumsily working with a loom. When they saw the two lords enter, they stood up and bowed low.

“Lord Dwalin. Prince Thorin.” They quickly greeted, red faced. “Amad. You should have told me we'd have guests!”

“Fussy, fussy. Dorin, they're here on business.” Arin informed her eldest child, before clearing space for them to sit. “My husband isn't home, so you have full family privacy.” She informed the two nobles, who sat awkwardly in the room.

Dwalin pulled out the bead from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of Arin.

“We found this at the murder scene. It was in Bilbo's hand.” Thorin grunted. Arin leant closer, her own beads jingling and jangling like chimes as she did so.

“But that's...the royal seal?” She frowned, picking it up and inspecting it. “You think someone in your family did it?”

“We can't rule the possibility out.” Dwalin replied. Thorin ran a hand through his beard as he often did when he was stressed. “That's why we came to you. Because you'd rather see our branch of the family brought down than we would.”

“And I have people watching everywhere. I had three lookouts at the palace yesterday, and one near the mines. I'll find the 'Dam who was watching it, ask her if she saw anything.” Arin promised. Thorin grasped a knife off the table, cutting away at his beard. Neither adult Dwarf said anything as he sheared his pride. Dwalin sighed, taking his own knife to cut his mohawk off. Loyal to a fault, his cousin was his leader, and he would follow Thorin through anything. Thorin took the knife he'd used to cut his beard, drawing it across the skin of his palm.

“I swear for every year without him, I will not rest for ten, I swear upon Mahal's halls that I will avenge his death. I swear upon every damn piece of gold in this kingdom that they will fall still without my vengeance. I will not die, or come to harm, while I search for his killer.” The prince snarled, blood trickling through his fingers from the wound.

Dwalin nodded, jaw jutted as he cut his palm. “I too swear this vow, for my prince and for Bilbo.”

Lady Arin pursed her lips, unsure what would happen. “I will keep this safe, and I will send a raven when I know the truth. Go home, for now. Speak with your cousins, the ones who are your age.”

 

Thorin returned to the palace hours after leaving, looking like a shell of a Dwarrow with his uneven beard and bloodstained cheeks. He wanted to collapse into dust, he wanted to be dead too. His feet took him to Dís' room, entering without knocking. His cousin Balin swore the oath, as had Oín and Gloin.

An unfamiliar Dwarrow was cradling her, and she was fast asleep, but it was obvious that she'd been weeping before falling asleep. Thorin's eyes narrowed, and the one holding his sister paled.

“Y-your highness lordship majesty.” He blurted, looking more and more like a rabbit in the crosshairs. “I'm your s-sister's personal guard. She asked me to be here with her.” He quickly explained, before looking down at her, a flicker of tenderness in his eyes. Thorin nodded slowly, before pursing his lips. He could tell what love looked like, he was more than aware of it. This Dwarrow loved his sister more than anything in this life.

“She's your One, isn't she?” He asked, shedding the bloodstained coat onto the floor.

“Yes, milord.” The guardsman whispered, moving to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Prove it.”

“Imunezulik. My name is Tili, fresh from the Iron Hills. I was tutored by Bofi, son of Bifi.”

Thorin chuckled, shaking his head as he came to lie on the bed that the guard was sat on, Dís still fast asleep in his embrace.

“She needs to leave Erebor. It isn't safe. She needs to go to Ered Luin. Erebor isn't safe.” Thorin explained, eyes shut as he lay on the bed. “She'll understand. But you're going with her, to protect her and make her happy.”

“Yes, milord. We can make a new life in Ered Luin, and she can rule it as a descendant of the line of Kings.”

“You may stay here, but I'll sleep here too. As a chaperone.” Thorin was lying. He needed to be surrounded with warmth, or else he felt like he could turn to stone, like his heart. A familiar place, and a sister to calm him from the inevitable nightmares.

“Thank you, milord.”

“Just call me brother, or Thorin. We're going to be family eventually. If my dear sister has her way, at least.” Thorin mumbled, before the darkness overtook him, and he fell asleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter include self-harm (sort of?)
> 
> Italics indicate the slightly warped khuzdul spoken by our beloved bif

Lady Arin scowled, her spies weren't up to scratch. They'd had a 'Dam watching the mines that night, but she'd gone into deep hiding after the young prince's One had murdered, and she was in none of her usual places, or at her safe house.

 

“Find her. She knows something, if she's hiding like this. I want her found as soon as possible, for both her safety and our own. You think we're safe? We aren't. Go. Now.” She snapped, axe slamming into the table as her various lieutenants and assorted guild members scrambled to weed out every tunnel and every deep hole for their missing Dwarrowdam. If Arin remembered correctly, the poor thing was pregnant, working for them to keep up her money while her husband was away trading in the Red Mountains.

 

There had to be a reason the young thing had vanished like smoke. Her brother was in the thieves guild too, one of their throat slitters. “Nodo.” She called, her husband poking his head around the door as she stood, smoothing out her dress.

“Yes, Arin?” He was faithful, loyal to her and her secrets. But he was not her One, his own had died in a landslide, and her own was far beyond her own reach, not even of her race.

“Can you find me the throat slitter, the wheaten one? I think his name was Erti, Arti? Something like that. He's Ortin's brother, the one we're looking for.”

“Right away, mizimuh.” He smiled, nodding before closing the door shut. They loved each other in their own way. It was a strange agreement. He'd sired her children, the children of nameless bastards going on and on within their familial lines.

“Dorin, my diamond.” She called to the eldest child, getting a return of “Yes mother”.

“Can you find Amad's pretty lace collar? I'm going to visit the Prince and Princess.”

 

 

Dís was made very aware of Lady Arin's presence as she entered the dining hall. Thorin was lying prone beside the table, on his sixth glass of ale. Dwalin was sat talking with his brother quietly.

A small red haired child climbed onto the table beside her, leaning close to inspect her coronet.

“That's a pretty tiara you got there, milady.” They said, reaching out to touch it.

“Norin. Down from there, don't bother the Lady Dís.” Arin scolded, entering through the doorway.

 

Dwalin and his brother looked up right away.

“I've come to make a deal, Fundinul.” She said, sitting down with a serene smile on her face.

Dwalin nodded, stepping closer. “State your terms, guildmaster Arin.”

“I wish for the release of one prisoner, and in return I will deliver you personally the Dwarrowdam that had been watching the mines that night. As soon as we find her.”

“Deal.” Dwalin nodded, before his brother tugged his beard.

“Now wait a moment, which is the prisoner you wish to have released?” Balin asked, eyes narrowed. Arin's smile turned feral.

“Bifur of the Iron Hills.”

 

Bifur had been arrested seventy years prior, half mad with rage when he had arrived in Erebor from the Iron Hills. He'd been arrested in a street fight in which he slaughtered three members of the thieves guild. Arin's mother, Irin hadn't pushed for any harm to be done to him, but hadn't bailed him out of the jail. He'd caught an axe to the head behind the bars, but managed to survive with it remaining in his skull. It altered his ability to speak westron, but his khuzdul was still in impeccable condition, despite his lunatic ravings.

Balin frowned, knowing the history. Would she kill him? It'd be a strange reason to have someone released when she could have a high ranking thief released. Her reasons were her own, and it was a reasonable deal. Balin nodded, and his brother relaxed.

“Very well, Bifur of the Iron Hills will be released into your custody. Do with him what you will, and we will await the Dwarrowdam. We know where your base is, so do not double cross us.” Balin offered a hand, which was shaken by the child instead of Arin. Dwalin chuckled, ruffling the child's hair.

 

 

Bifur stepped out, all the gear he entered with seventy years prior stashed in his pockets. Time to find out what his benefactor wanted.

He barely got three streets away when Arin stepped out from the shadows, her deep indigo dress swishing slightly as she walked.

“ _Lady Arin, it is a pleasure to finally meet you as an adult.”_ He bowed low, understanding he should show respect to the woman who freed him.

“Master Bifur.” She replied, handing him a purple ring.

The purple ring was a rumoured piece that would be given to the guardian of the next guildmaster should their predecessor die before it could be passed on naturally. Bifur was surprised it really existed.

He took it reverently, stroking over the markings. “ _You're going to die, aren't you?_ ” He asked quietly, and she nodded after a moment. “There are great threats within this kingdom. We need you to promise when the time comes, you will take my children far from here. Norin will be the heir, they are already showing skill. Dorin wishes to join the weavers, so we will allow them to join the weavers.” Arin explained. “You are to go to the tavern that is our base, and you will take Norin and teach them your craft as best you can. We know of why you're here, and why you killed those thieves back then. We were told by our mother, and we know of what happened in the Iron hills.” She spoke using the regal 'we', and he recognised that as a command, not an askance.

“ _I will die for you if you ask it of me, my Queen. I will protect the heir and Dorin as if they were my own children. You do your ancestors proud, and I will serve you as I have always served your family. I will not fail you.”_ He bowed deep, stowing the ring close to his heart.

She nodded, before melting back into the shadows.

 

 

Thorin roused after hours of drinking, feeling no ache in his bones, or pull in his body that would suggest a hangover. He frowned, looking at the barrel he'd had to drink. That wasn't right.

He looked down at the injury on his hand, and it had already scarred over. He picked up a knife, pressing the blade to his skin. The skin cut, and healed itself shut instantly.

No. That couldn't be possible. And yet...

Another cut, an instant healing. The pain was felt, but there was nothing left behind. No blood, no mark that there had ever been an injury to his arm.

He swallowed his fear, sticking his hand into the flames of the fire place. The heat swallowed his arm, searing agony, but as soon as he removed his hand, the skin was uninjured, not even slightly burnt.

This was Wrong.

He looked up, and Dwalin's face was grim across the room.

“Noticed it too, then?” He said quietly.

“Aye, cousin. It's unnatural. A curse.”

“How many others swore our oath?” Thorin asked, brows furrowed as he looked at the mark on his palm.

“Balin, Gloin, Oín. That's all.”

“We have cursed them, too.” His mood was black, and his eyes burned. “What have we done?”

 

Bifur entered the tavern, and a few conversations stopped instantly, with more petering off as he approached the barkeep.

He pulled out his knife, picking out the dirt from under his nails. “ _A strong ale, put it on Milady's tab.”_ He ordered, and the barkeep poured him a cup, wary of the newcomer. Not all knew of Bifur of the Iron Hills.

“ _And you traitorous dogs can go tell Naron I'm out. And I'm coming for his blood in time. His head will be the first to roll when I reclaim my guild.”_ Bifur growled, throwing a knife at one of the twitchiest Dwarrow in the room. His braid was obviously from the Iron Hills, and Bifur grinned wolfishly at the terrified noise he made. “ _Bifur of the Iron Hills, guildmaster by blood and right to the guild of the Hills. As ordained by Queen Yrin II, grandmother of our current queen.”_ He bowed, a few knives being drawn to deal with the threat, until a small red haired child grabbed his cuff.

“Up.” They ordered, and he chuckled, scooping up the child. “ _Why, little Norin. Are you here all alone_?” He asked, placing them over his shoulder.

“Yessir, mister Bifur. Amad told me you were my new teacher. Teach me.” They were happy to be dumped over his shoulder, sticking their tongue out at a few of the recruits.

“ _Very well, little trouble. Let's go into the market. I need new tools. Watch and learn, trouble.”_ Oh he was going to enjoy this. It'd been too long since he'd shown a fresh and devious mind his ways.

 

The market was busy, and Bifur allowed Norin to sit on his shoulders, their little chubby hands gripping his hair. “Mister Bifur, your hair is so messy. Learn to braid it nicely like Amad and Dorin. Dorin's my older sibling, they're so bossy, an' fussy, an' polite, an' courteous. They always insist we make tea for our guests but our guests don't care about no tea. They want to talk to Amad 'cos she's the one who matters, right?” They jabbered, barely stopping for breath. “You ain't like Dorin though, you were ready to shiv that Hiller. Why'd you wanna shiv that Hiller, mister Bifur?” They asked.

“ _Well, little trouble. I'm a 'Hiller' too, and that little worm works for the Dwarrow that took my job. And I'm not sure you should be using language like 'shiv' just yet, you're much too young.”_ He chuckled, getting his hair tugged roughly in return by the child.

“Well. You smell so you ain't allowed to tell me what to do. And your boots are weird.” They retorted childishly. He laughed, nodding.

“ _You're right, my boots are weird. So I'm going to get new boots. And you better pay close attention and help. Prove you deserve to be taught by me, little trouble.”_ He grinned, heading towards a leather selling stall.

“ _Greetings, mistress Tanner. I'm looking for a good new coat for my grandson here.”_ Bifur started, gesturing up to Norin. Their nose scrunched up a little, but they nodded all the same. “ _I was hoping to get it as a carve day gift. Can you measure him, so we can get the right coat?”_ He asked, setting Norin down on the ground. They smiled sweetly up at the tanner woman who cooed at the sweet child. They let the woman measure them, while Bifur knocked several things off of the counter top at once. He let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest.

The tanner gasped, and he coughed. _“Forgive me, missus. My legs gave out, I'm not as young as I used to be. I think I need to sit down a moment.”_ Bifur placed several of the items back up on the stall top, while Norin stood with their arms still outstretched for measuring. The tanner looked between the two, but decided to carry on measuring Norin while Bifur sat down, quickly swapping boots. He was carefully watching the area, making sure that all the other stalls were busy in the meantime. The new boots were comfortably on his feet and by the time the tanner was done measuring Norin, he had discarded the old ones. Norin smiled sweetly up at the 'Dam, while Bifur picked a single coin from a passers-by's pocket.

“ _Here, a coin for your time, missus tanner.”_ Bifur smiled, picking up Norin while offering the coin. It was received gladly, and he grinned to Norin as they continued on their way.

“ _So, what did I do that you learnt from?”_ He asked once they were a distance away.

“You distracted the lady and offered a different thing for her to look at so's she wouldn't notice the boots going. Sitting on your ass gave you the opportunity to change boots without it being too obvious, innit?” They grinned, getting a wink from Bifur.

“ _Well done, trouble. Now, you're also going to learn to make toys. My family have done it for years, and that way if you're stopped by guards you can prove you have a trade. Your Amad's a lace maker, after all. But I don't think you've got the patience for that, little trouble.”_ He smiled, pulling out a little toy for the Dwarfling.

“Huh. 'Kay then. If Amad says so, so's I gotta.”

 

Across the city, a panicked Dwarrowdam wrote down two letters, clutching her large stomach as she did so. She knew there wasn't much time, and her Queen's crows had found her, so she must tell them all she'd seen.

Azbad Arin, Queen of Shadows

I cannot guarantee that this letter will reach you and I still live.

If you read this, I have the information, but I will only come out of hiding if you can promise I won't be injured. I fear for my life, and the life of my Son. I fear for my brother's life, and for your own. What I saw will ruin Erebor. 

Mahal protect us all.

Ortin, daughter of Arnel

 

She tied the letter to the foot of the crow that had found her, and let it fly away to deliver the message. Hopefully it wouldn't be too late. She continued to knit away her fear, praying to be delivered to safety in time.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooo boy the gore  
> dead dwarf do not eat

Dís and Tili were in the hall outside Thorin's room, where the young prince and Dwalin had been holed up for the past day and a half. She fretted, pacing to and fro while Tili watched. They were still figuring out their boundaries, and relationship between them, but he knew when he should intervene. The guardsman reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“My Lady, you need to stop. We both need food, and to sit down.” He insisted, tugging her braids gently. They weren't the neatest at present, and she fixed him with a pout, but allowed him to tug her into his arms, small smile crossing his lips. Their relationship was still unknown to her family at the moment, but he allowed himself to lean in and give her a small but sweet kiss to the lips, his blond braids tangling with her own dark brown for a moment. She laughed, and the tension dispersed.

“You have a deal, my stone. But only if you'll eat the same food as I do, without any arguments. I can afford to have the best, so I want you to have it too. You are my personal body guard, after all.” She winked, tugging his moustache braid gently. He laughed, nodding.

“Aye, my Lady I can deal with that. And guard this body I will.” The young guard grinned, wrapping his arms around her waist to hoist her up over his shoulder momentarily. She shrieked with laughter, arms flailing in the air.

“You there, Iron Hill guard! Stand to attention.” Came a barked order. The guardsman froze, looking up the corridor at a red faced Balin. He dropped Dís on her feet, standing to attention.

“Lord Fundinul, sir.” He replied, keeping his face impassive. Dís bristled. She may have been a head shorter than Balin, but her fury was greater. She waited for him to march over before grabbing hold of his beard, tugging him down to her eye level.

“You should be addressing me, cousin. That's my personal guard, if you'll notice. He's wearing _my_ crest, so he's no longer under your family's service.”

“My Lady Dís, his conduct is not acceptable. He is not your friend, if he is your guard.” Balin replied, brows furrowing.

“No, he is not my friend.” She replied, eyes burning with cold fire. “He's _mine._ You can't do anything to him.”

The elder Fundinul swallowed, well aware of the mad dragon rage that could be evoked by angering the main line of the royal family.

“Of course. Unhand my beard, I was just here to ask about my brother. That's all, your highness.” He quickly placated, butting their heads together gently. She smiled, ice in her expression melted and replaced with a complacent princess once more.

“Well, he and mine are still locked away in there. We are going to get food, so...enjoy waiting.” She let go of his beard, smoothing it out gently before holding out her arm for Tili to take, the blonde Dwarrow taking it, to escort her away.

As soon as they rounded the corridor she burst out laughing, wrapping her arms around him to keep herself upright. “Oh the look on fusspot's face! He was so scared that I was about to go mad like my grandfather!” She cackled gleefully, Tili's wry smirk in place.

“I'm yours, am I princess?” He asked, and she flushed red a little.

“Oh shush! You knew what I meant!” She insisted, hitting his arm gently as he stuck his tongue out at her. “I have to have an air of nobility sometimes.”

“Not often enough, your braids are all tangled at the back.” He pointed out. “Did you do them this morning?”

“Well. No. I slept with them in.” She admitted, and he shook his head with a chuckle. “Fine, fine. Let's go to my room and fix them and then get food.” Dís flapped her hand at him, and he laughed, heading towards her door, opening it for her.

“I suppose it's good for you to learn how I do them anyway, you're mine.” She strode past him, head up proudly as she sat down at her little vanity. He shut the door, coming up behind her to start untangling the braids without any prompting. She watched him in the mirror, cheeks flushed slightly as his hands gently worked through her messy hair. He picked up her favourite comb, brushing through her hair slowly. His face calm as he paid such attention to her hair, slowly untangling her hair to put the braids back in. He managed the five strand braid at the top of her head easily, and the two by her ears, sliding in a pair of beads that she'd never seen before.

“Are those yours?” She asked curiously, and his dark eyes flicked up to hers in the reflection. “That's right. I bought them for you back when I was a young lad. I knew my One would have only the best so I saved up and bought them. They're soladite.” He explained, securing them on both sides. “Do you like them?” He asked, and her face lit up. “I love them. They're perfect, lukhudel.”

He smiled, leaning forward to kiss the top of her head. She turned her whole body on the stool, wrapping him in her arms to kiss him.

 

 

Norin was perched on Bifur's shoulder as he taught them how to weigh gold against fake gold, and then fake gold against other objects that might be hand. Their reynard red hair kept swaying as they nodded, and Bifur chuckled, messing it up as he switched the fake gold with the real gold. Their eyes narrowed, leaning closer to the scales.

“Mister Bifur, that's real gold. You switched it.” They decided.

“ _Very good, poppet. Where's the fake gold now?”_ He asked, and they leant up, grabbing a coin from behind his ear, which had definitely not been behind his ear. They'd learnt a 'magic' trick!

“Is this it?” They asked, and he couldn't help but cackle, hand slamming on the table.

“ _Oh little Norin, you are so funny.”_ His face spread into a grand smile. “ _I'm proud to call you my apprentice. You'll be learning from me for as long as I have something to teach you. And then one day you will run the guild, and we will retake my guild. I know it._ ” Bifur pinched their cheek fondly.

 

 

The Lady Arin read over the letter, her face dark. She put on her finest dress, heading up to the Palace. The letter was stashed in her pocket, and she made her way up and in, finding Thorin's room. She knocked before kicking it twice.

“Prince Thorin, open up this instant!” She shouted, and the latch was opened after a few moments. She thrust the letter at him.

His face was impassive a moment as he read it.

“What does this mean?” He asked, passing the letter to Dwalin, whose brows furrowed.

“It means treason. It means someone committed treason. Someone will commit treason again to have to find out who it was.” She paced, her deep purple velvet swishing. This was troubling. “Send your sister out of the mountain. It isn't safe. My children will follow, as will their guardian. You'll need to leave soon, too. It isn't safe. Get your cousins and leave. Blood is going to be spilled all over this gold.” She took the letter back. “My personal guards will be going to escort the 'Dam to safety. She's pregnant. I'd like for your guards to not interfere.”

“I can promise it.” Dwalin insisted, bowing to her. Thorin bowed too. “We're closer and closer to finding the killer, this can only mean good news.” Dwalin looked to the prince.

“Aye, good news. But I will still have Dís and her...guard leave. We'll disguise it as a diplomatic convoy bringing coin and goods to the Blue Mountains.” Thorin decided. Arin nodded, before leaving.

 

Thorin set about dressing and preparing himself to address the royal family.

 

“We have found a Dwarrowdam that witnessed the murder. She will be coming to give a statement to an ally of mine tonight, so we will soon find whoever did this.” He announced, despite Dwalin having told him over and over not to tell them. Dwalin still had the bead they'd found. Neither of the young Dwarrow had identified the owner, but it was worrying all the same. Thorin thought it could be nothing.

Several people in the room looked apprehensive. Fundin's eyebrows raised.

“Your ally is a liar and a criminal. Lady Arin cannot be trusted. She's tricked you.” He hissed. Dwalin shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to have disappointed his father.   
“You cannot speak to me like that, Lord Fundin. Watch your tongue.” Thorin hissed, slamming his sword on the table. The older dwarf's eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue.

 

Ortin was being escorted to meet her Queen, fear and dread settling in her chest. She clutched her swollen stomach, hurrying through the streets with her brother, one of the enforcers for Lady Arin. He clutched her hand, the other had his shield raised as they ran. He was afraid. She'd told him what she'd seen, and Arin was waiting for them at the end of the street. A crossbow fired, hitting Arti in the back, the Dwarrow shouting in pain, raising the shield to cover his sister as he kept running, a second hitting him, followed by a third. Ortin began running as fast as she could, and Lady Arin began running towards her, holding her hand out for the young Dwarrowdam. Ortin was reaching out as he brother was felled by an assassin, and Arin's own archers began firing, trying to kill the assassin, but the Dwarrow got close enough to stick the knife through Ortin's throat, slitting it wide open, blood gushing over Lady Arin's face as she caught the body. “Feguznikuz.” She managed out, her last words before her throat filled with blood.

 

The young 'Dam's face was a mask of shock as she trembled, blood pumping from her throat in uneasy gushes.

“Kill them! Kill them all and bring me their braids!” Arin roared, clutching the body close to her chest. “Get me a surgeon! We will save this child!”

A scrunched up letter was in Ortin's hand, and Arin removed it, stowing it in her dress while she hoisted up the body, determined to save the young life within.

 

Barely two hours later the baby was screaming, clinging to life and Arin's mithril white beard.

“There there, little Feguznikuz.” Arin murmured. “Ori. Little Ori. Your siblings will always look after you until we find your father. And long after that, they will protect you too.” She promised, calling Norin over. “Norin, my gem, I need you to promise to tell everyone that Ori is my baby, and you're my Nori, and Dorin is Dori. Master Bifur is going to take you out of the mountain and somewhere safe, just for a few years. I promise everything will be alright. His dark name is Feguznikuz. You can't tell anybody, ever, except for fussybraids.”

“Feguznikuz. I'll look after him for always, Amad. I promise.” Norin's eyes shone with a pride Arin hadn't seen before, and she kissed Norin's cheek, before the little one took the baby, cooing softly to him. Ori quietened right away, and Arin smiled.

“Adad will pack your bags right up, and Bifur will be getting the cart. You'll be travelling in the Princess' convoy, so everything will be okay. If anyone asks, Bifur is your grandpapa, and you're going to the ancestral home. But don't forget, you are my heir. You will own all of Erebor's streets one day, my gem. Family will always come and help you.” Arin said, knowing this would be the last time she saw the child. “And don't let Dorin push anybody into anything, you know how they are. And work hard. I love you.” She slipped an amethyst handled dagger into Norin's hands. “This has been passed down since the very first shadow court. It's yours now, and one day when you're king or queen, you can pass it to your children. Give it to master Bifur until you're old enough. I'm so proud of you.”

Norin wanted to cry, but they kept a brave face, holding the baby Ori in their arms. “It'll be okay Amad. Everything will be okay.”

 

It wouldn't. Arin knew that the royals would turn on each other and kill her, if they get the chance. She swallowed her fear and smiled, sending Dorin, Norin and Ori on their way to the exit with Princess Dís' convoy. Not many were travelling, but enough that the children wouldn't go without. They had plenty of coin, enough to set them up until Dorin was old enough to go into serious work.

Arin waved to them, her husband helping Dorin up into the cart before waving goodbye.

 

As an afterthought, she whistled for her Raven to fly with them, to be Norin's Raven. Srolek cawed, before taking wing and flying to the horizon.

Mahal have mercy.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for:  
> suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, literal "suicide", lots of murder, mentions of abusive relationships, more murder, like real descriptions of this murder,   
> hoooo boy let's get cracking  
> my khuzdul sources are: http://oakwyrm.tumblr.com/post/137352270340/sans%C3%BBkh-dictionary and https://www.lotro.com/forums/showthread.php?390991-Thramili-s-Khuzdul-Dictionary(revisited)

“No. This isn't right, I'm telling Thorin, he deserves to know the truth. You know, I know, we know what happened. He needs to know what happened.”

“No. You dare to defy me? No, no Dwarrowdam can defy me. You will die before you tell him the truth.”

“No, no. You wouldn’t. You can’t!”

 

 

Thorin was roused from his slumber long before the sun had crawled above the horizon by a frantic Dwalin.

“Thorin! Thorin!” He shouted, hair in disarray. “The Royal Assassination Team were all slaughtered in the night! Every last one of them. Lady Arin ordered the hit on them, and your mother's- your mother's been... Mahal. She's dead! Your grandmother killed her and then took her own life, leaving a note confessing to killing Bilbo!” Dwalin's usually dark skin was pale, and the distinct tremble was obvious.

Thorin stood quickly, and pushed past him to run towards the throne room. No. It couldn't be so. His grandmother? She wouldn't- She couldn't! She didn't have it in her to do so.

 

The two bodies were already laid out on the table, his grandfather looked unnerved, and his father beyond consoling. Shrouds covered them, and Thorin fell to his knees. He could already see the red seeping through the shrouds, from self-inflicted cuts and killing cuts.

“How could this have happened? It doesn’t make sense…” Thorin whispered, eyes dry, unable to bring himself to shed a single tear. He’d cried long enough already. This couldn’t be right. It didn’t make sense. Why would his grandmother kill his mother? She wasn’t capable of harming anyone, or his grandfather would have been returned a blackened eye long ago, for all the attempts he had of hurting her. All her bruises would have been returned tenfold if she were truly capable of hurting anyone.

He pulled out his own dagger and pressed it to his chest, cutting the fabric, cutting the skin, cutting into organs. He then pulled it out, and the blade came away clear. Not a single drop of blood, nothing. He was still cursed. The killer still yet lived, and the bodies began to pile up further and further. Arin had ordered a massacre, because a young ‘dam had been killed, because the young ‘dam knew something about Bilbo’s murder. He pressed the dagger into himself once more, for the pain and to be certain. It came away clear again.

His father hadn’t seen, his grandfather hadn’t seen. There was still more to this than meets the eye. His grandmother was innocent, his mother had been murdered. What had she known? Arin would know. She had to know.

He stood abruptly, shoving past his grandfather. If either of the dead women had done it, they’d be missing a clasp. But they weren’t, they both wore crystal. So it would be someone else. It had to be someone else. He would find who did it, even if it wore him down to skin and bones, he would find them. He would kill them.

 

Thorin headed to his rooms, putting on his armour, and then a gown, his swords, and finally a blue stone rose. He would go to Arin, he would talk to her and he would find the truth. She must know something, if she had fifty dwarrow slaughtered in one fell swoop. A slaughter, that’s what it was.

 

People were starting to leave Erebor already, leaving to the far settlements in the east. They knew there was no chance for safety now, because there was only unrest. The lower classes were afraid of being tortured, hurt, or caught in the crossfire, so they packed up and followed their princess, and those of the guild followed their leader’s children. Some wealthier individuals feared that Dís’ departure would signal a collapse within the kingdom, so they too left. Thorin brushed past them towards the city’s underbelly. He urgently needed lady Arin, before a blow could be struck against her in retaliation.

As he made his way downward, the people grew more afraid, some running, some drawing their hoods up, others clutching their bags and children close.

Outside of the little Tavern that lay beneath Arin’s catacombs, guards were swarming. The straw on the floor around it was stained red, and he felt a stone sinking in his stomach. No. No, this wasn’t right. He pushed closer, drawing his sword.

“What is going on?” He shouted, a guard turning before bowing.

“My Lord, we have cornered the so-called Queen of shadows.” He sneered, before returning to the hoard. Thorin felt his breath become shallower and quicker, barging past blades and axes of every faction. He made his way toward the centre, where Lady Arin was fighting with Lord Fundin, her war axes spinning and meeting his double headed axe blow for blow.

Thorin shoved aside a guard, and ducked a hammer blow before he saw Fundin knock away her axes. She pulled out a dagger, ducking low as he swung his axe at her. The fighting around them began to stop as they watched their Lord commander and Queen fighting to the death.

“Izukh!” Thorin shouted, but there was little response from the two of his cousins. Fundin swung again, and the head of the axe caught on Arin’s husband. Was his name Nodo? It was odd that he’d never paid the dwarrow any mind, but in his dying moments he was proving his heart was noble and brave. Blood spurted from his chest, staining his wife’s white beard as he gasped for his last breath, before the thief fell backwards, axe embedded in his chest. She let out a shriek, knife digging into Fundin’s throat, his blood spurting over her hands as she thrust it into his neck over and over, her rage as hot as a dragon’s fire.

“Izukh!” He shouted again, but a crossbow bolt pierced her thigh, and she fell to her knees, while Fundin collapsed beside her. Their blood pooled together, and Arin dragged herself to where Nodo lay, yet another crossbow bolt burying itself in her body. She cupped his face, pressing her brow to his. “My love. Oh my love. Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal.” She whispered, his dying breaths whispering words of endearment back, their blood mingling on their bodies. Thorin couldn’t tear his eyes from the scene playing before him. His ally, being murdered. So much death, when would the lust for blood be quenched? A final crossbow bolt flew, piercing her lower back.

Around him the thieves battled all the harder against the guards, and Thorin found himself reaching for his fallen Lord cousin’s war horn. He blew hard on it, just once before shouting. “IZUKH. There has been enough blood spilled. Guards, leave. Return to your posts, take your wounded and your dead. I do not want a single drop more spilled. Two of my kin have died before my eyes. My mother, my grandmother. Your Queens, your princess. They too are dead. Blood does not solve our wounds, not does it fix the pain stored within our hearts. Leave or I will have you for treason!” He snarled, and surely enough, the guards began to leave, but they left Fundin’s body. The thieves dispersed mostly, ready to flee the city. Thorin sank to his knees, in the deep blood.

 

Dwalin found him there some time later, once the news of his father’s death had reached the inner city. Dwalin sank down beside Thorin, and the two Dwarrow knelt in silence for a short while.

“What happened here, cousin?” His voice was tight, stiff with pain.

“He attacked her. He raided the tavern, disarmed her, killed her husband, and she killed him. A crossbow ended her life, after she dragged herself to her husband’s body.” Thorin felt entirely removed from the scene before him. Like he’d seen it from a stranger’s eyes. The air was thick and heavy with blood, and he knew it was time to leave Erebor.

“We need to leave this place. Possibly never return, too much pain is held within Erebor. Curse this place. Curse it. All my grandfather cares for is the coin. I hope it weighs more than granite, that it will not move, as my mother no longer moves, as my grandmother no longer moves. As Bilbo…” He broke into a sob, before covering his face. “I would rather the whole place fall as silent and still as the grave than allow Bilbo’s murderer to be free.”

“Let us leave, cousin. Pack your things, we will follow your sister’s caravan soon enough. Soon enough that the pain will remain under the rock and we will remain under the sky.” Dwalin promised, helping his cousin up to his feet.

“Poor woman. She didn’t deserve to die like a pig in the slaughter house. Trapped like a rat.” Dwalin murmured. “She was brave, and she wanted to do the right thing. So now we must do the right thing.”

“It’s harder and harder to know what the right thing is, Dwalin.” He murmured, before turning his back and heading toward the palace.

 

They left at first light the next morning, their possessions stored safely away, and on them. Dwalin held his father’s axe, and Thorin had many of Bilbo’s possessions.

They’d find a way. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> exposition. setting up for future events. bringing characters in

Within a four years Dís and Tili had married, defying all customs because the princess could do anything she wanted. Her first child had come quickly in the years after that, to nobody’s surprise. Tili was her One, the perfect match for her soul. It was obvious that they were so painfully in love, Thorin refused to tell anyone otherwise. Frerin hadn’t found their way to the Blue mountains yet, but the prince and princess held out hope still. Thorin more often than not would go deep into the flooded mines for hours, days, weeks, and when he returned the caves would no longer be flooded. Dwalin often went with him, with Gloin’s help. The three were somehow untouched by the water, and the mines began to build an economy to depend on, jobs were easy to come by, mine maintenance in the early days, and then miners for digging the ore from the mountains. Once that was possible, it was easy for smiths to set up, making weapons and general household objects. 

Reports came in after five years that there was a curse within Erebor. The gold was as heavy as lead, and none of the people within would stir no matter how they were roused. 

Bifur hadn’t taken long to get the three young children a safe home, and began teaching Nori everything he could. They started learning quickly, and within a few years they were bringing money into the household. The blue mountains became home, and it was growing rapidly with Ereborian refugees’ hard work, hard earned money, hard labour. Naturally there was a thieves’ guild springing up around the city, and Bifur was the unofficial leader. The official leader never lasted long, it was too cut-throat in its early days. Bifur kept the true power, training Nori on the side so that they would be able to assume control once they were old enough.

Dori had taken up a tailoring apprenticeship, with lacemaking their ultimate goal, taking after their mother’s fake business would be a certain way to have a consistent income when Nori was training. As Ori grew older, it was obvious that he wasn’t like Nori and Ori, they were stronger than him, and better at working with intricate and delicate fingers. Ori loved using charcoal to draw, drawing on anything he could. He befriended Fíli, they were another young dwarrow close to his age. They were only seven years younger than him, so it was natural that they would find themselves together. Fíli was a little too rambunctious for Ori, but he would draw for the Princen all the same, pictures of dragons, and swords, scribbles that looked like people. A few years after that and Fíli’s younger sibling Kíli joined their group. The two princen were nothing like Ori as they grew, playful and boisterous. Playful he could do, when the mood struck. 

* * *

 

“Bifur…” He wasn’t good at asking for things, but this he wanted more than anything. He’d whispered it in passing to Nori when they came and cuddled up in bed on the colder nights with him. They were the best sibling he could wish for. Dori took care of him, but Nori always knew what to do, when it really mattered more than anything. 

“Mm? What is it Ori?” He was working on something, a carved object. A toy. 

“Bifur, I want to…” Ori wrung his hands for a moment, clearing his throat. “I want to train as a scribe. And then be a scholar. I want to work with books and maps.” He had never asked for something like this before. It would be incredibly expensive, equipment, paying a master, books to learn from would need to be imported from the Iron Hills. 

Bifur regarded him for a long moment, before a glint appeared in his eye. “I think you should confirm with Nori that you’re ready for this. They are the head of the household after all.” He scruffed Ori’s chin gently. 

He puffed his chest out, and headed up to Nori’s room. He knocked, and then stepped in, little mousy head peaking around the corner of the screen next to their bed. 

“Nori? Are you here?” He asked hopefully. He got a grunt in return, and stood in full view of Nori. 

“Bifur said I need to ask you for permission to be a… A um, scholar? I want to write maps, and document things that happen.” They already knew about it, but he was serious about it.

Nori sat up, hair sticking up at all angles. 

“You wanna do writing? You gonna do writing. Ask master Balin for an apprenticeship. We’ll get the money for you, promise.” They grinned, eyes gleaming. He whooped, jumping on their bed to hug them. He was only 15, but he was determined to prove his worth. Fíli was too busy having adventures with Kíli, after all. Nori ruffled his braids up. 

“Okay, ‘kay. Lemme do your braids, yeah? Then you can go an’ look spiffy when you go talk to Balin.” They pulled out a wooden comb and began to brush out his braids. 

“I know I’m not like you Nori. But I want to make things, not take things.” He mumbled, and Nori sighed softly. 

“You already know, don’t’cha?” They asked softly, braiding his hair. Ori shut his eyes, and sighed.

“Yes. You and Dori aren’t blood related to me. But you’re still family. I found the records and letters about what happened in Erebor…” He had found them digging around in a library. It’d hurt to read it, but he knew he was part of a family that wanted him. 

Nori wrapped their arms around him, their chin resting on his shoulder. “You’re still my little Ori. I held you in my arms when we left Erebor, an’ I promised I would always look after you, Feguznikuz.” They tugged his beard gently. 

“I know you will.” He smiled, tugging their beard in return. 

Ori ran down to the scribe’s workshop, eyes full of hope. He stopped just outside, taking in a deep breath to compose himself. He was still young, but he was a hard worker. He walked in, marched up to Balin’s desk, cleared his throat and then felt his bravery vanish. 

“Are you lost, young one?” Balin asked, leaning over the desk and his accounting book. 

“M-master Balin…I want to be your apprentice.” He looked up, wringing his hands gently. Balin surveyed him for a long moment. 

“You were born in Erebor, correct?” Balin adjusted his glasses. Ori nodded, wetting his lips nervously. “What is your lineage?” 

“I…I don’t know sir. I’m adopted into Nori and Dori’s family.” 

Balin’s eyes narrowed, and he set his jaw. “I do not have space for an apprentice from a family of thieves and whores. No price can change that. Unless you can prove your lineage, do not come back, Ori son of none.” 

The dwarfling stood stunned for a moment, before turning on his heel and calmly walking away. 

Nori found him first, hearing the story through his tears. Nori was only 23, but they knew what business meant, and this meant business. They brought Ori home, settling him down in bed before they carefully removed the amethyst hilted blade of the Shadow line and headed toward the new royal quarters. It wasn’t as beautiful as Erebor had been, but it was still one of the wealthier areas of the world. Clumsily they climbed through the stones, through the walls until they found themselves outside the door of Thorin son of Thráin. Nori hadn’t spoken to him much, not since Erebor. They’d only greeted him in the years that they’d been in the Blue mountains. 

They took a moment to smooth the flyaway red hair around their beard before taking a deep breath, stowing the blade against their body in their coat. 

“Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, heir of the sunlight court of Erebor-“ They started, but were stopped dead in their tracks by the ice cold eyes that fixed upon them. Thorin was sat carefully polishing something at the large marble table, something blue which was quickly stowed away. His expression softened, and Nori could see that he realised they were just a child.

“It’s heir of the court of light, Norin.” He corrected, before gesturing for them to sit. They sat on the bench opposite him. They pulled out the dagger, placing it on the table.

“I want you to…to.” They started, but stopped when Thorin reached over, his large hand taking the dagger. 

“Cousin. You haven’t been taking care of this blade very well. I will teach you to care for weapons and gems properly. This blade is as old as our family.” He glanced up, eyes locking with Nori’s. They nodded slowly, and cleared their throat again. 

“I want you to scold Balin. He was a bastard to my Ori today.” They insisted. “Ori’s got real good talent, proper good at writing and reading. And Balin told him no, because we don’t know his proper lineage. You know ‘bout what happened to his Amad. He ain’t got no Amad, just like me an’ you. He never got to meet his Amad. You gotta tell Balin to accept him.” They watched as his eyes grew stormy, and he carefully turned the blade over in his hands. 

“Norin. You have a good heart, you want to help people who you feel have been wronged, is that correct?” He asked. 

“Um. Yeah, yes. I guess.” They didn’t see why that mattered. 

“I will talk to Balin, and I will send Fíli to come and tell you when he accepts. Now, shall I teach you about how to care for a blade?” 

Dori was fretting when Nori didn’t return within an hour, but they came in two hours late, a strange feeling in their stomach and a whetted blade. 

Fíli ran over a day later, and Ori’s smile was worth the hassle of running to Thorin. 

Ori started the week after Durin’s day, and Dori couldn’t be prouder. Bifur intensified Nori’s training, and each day they would come home exhausted, eating cold food leftover by Dori. They carved toys for hours, and planned robberies, picked pockets, worked on networks of spies, figuring out who was worth trusting in their circles. 

Everything was hard work, Dori got their mastery in lace weaving, and Ori worked hard to make maps, books, anything they were asked. Nori and Bifur realised he had good potential for forgery, and had him start on the unimportant things. Just letters, and then editing shop’s books to allow for their price cut. 

Caravans started to come from the Iron Hills, the poorer miners that wanted a life for themselves, and from the Red mountains, people bringing specialised trades from afar. 

One of the convoys brought Bifur’s young nephews, Bofur and Bombur, with his half-sister Bini. 

Bini was young, not even 110, but she had two sons already, outside of marriage, so it was better to get away and live freely elsewhere. Bini had been born just after Bifur had left the Iron Hills. Her youngest son was a year younger than Nori, and the elder was two years older than Nori. Everyone worked hard, and they were happy. 

Bofur and Nori were thick as thieves. Bofur was working in the mine, it was quick, it was easy, nobody cared what your lineage was, where you came from, who you were.

He didn’t need a trade, he had mining, he had tinkering. He was good at fiddling with things, and he would take bits of Nori’s scrap metal from toymaking, twist it into little things, leave them around the house for Dori. Bini and the boys stayed with Bifur and the ‘Ri’s for a while, until they’d worked up enough money to move into their own house just down the street. Bombur would cook meals for everyone once a week, and he was good at it. He experimented with meals all the time, and soon Bofur, Nori, and Dori were putting aside a few coins when they could spare it. He was good, good enough to run his own place close to the mines once he came of age, so they had years to start preparing for the inevitable. He got a job down in the mines kitchen, and that was enough for him to buy better ingredients for the family, and Ori helped him write down recipes. 

As the amount of people he was cooking for grew, his waistband followed, and Bombur was getting larger by the month. They were happy, they had lives in the Iron Hills.


	7. Chapter 7

Kíli was growing up to be inquisitive, they wanted to know why everything was the way it was. Why did Thorin have such a short beard? Why did his mother demand that they had to brush their beard? Why did they get a choice when they came of age? Why did Nori and Dori have the same choice but not Ori? Why did Fíli study harder? Why was Dwalin able to train and spar with any partner for hours on end?

It was this inquisitive nature that lead them to leave the safety of the mountain, to enter the slums that sprawled outside of the mountain. They’d learnt that the slums had been built before the mines were clear of water, and people liked their houses out there, but they wondered if they might fall out into the sky if they were outside for so long. Mahal would know all the answers, for certain.

They were prowling the streets, it was late for their usual adventures, there was a glowing orb in the sky. Was that the moon? Yes, yes it had to be. Why was it as if it was burning? It made no sense.

A hooded figure came to stand beside them, and placed a fond hand on their head.

**_“This is a fire moon, young one. You are lucky to have seen it, they happen so rarely. It is as if my forge were visible in the sky.”_** The figure told them, and they realised there was a weight in that voice that could not be mortal. They looked up, but they couldn’t see the figure’s face, because the eyes were so brilliantly blue that they could only see those burning eyes.

“Are you Mahal?” They asked, eyes wide.

“ ** _Yes, that is what our people call me. Can you keep this a secret? I cannot come often, but you’re a special kind of stone, and I need you to help me where I cannot. Your uncle Thorin has many problems in his life, and it is not fair, so I know how you can help him, you will help him.”_** Mahal told them, and they nodded.

“He gets a sad look in his eyes a lot. Why?”

Mahal chuckled, stroking through their hair gently. “ ** _You are so inquisitive. I am glad you lust knowledge, to know why things work. He is sad as there was a terrible crime committed upon him. He met his One, and Bilbo was taken from him. But they will meet again, and justice will be given. You will make sure he tries to be positive. I did not carve him to be a tragic figure, but to be a hero. You are a healer, ever-dark. Heal wounds, hearts, souls. When Thorin comes to find you, tell him that his heart is strong.”_**

Kíli didn’t understand what this meant, but the knowledge of what had happened to Bilbo was more than enough to pique his interest.

“Thank you for showing me the fire moon, Mahal. It’s beautiful.”

“ ** _Your One is as bright and burning as this, you will find her one day, and she will be like nothing you have ever seen. You will love her, I am sure.”_**

**__ **

Thorin had been frantic. It was near dawn, but he couldn’t find Kíli. He even asked Nori to help him find the young dwarf. They sent scouts everywhere looking for the boy. Thorin rounded a corner, seeing the fire moon slowly sinking and the sun rising above the mountains. A small figure was stood atop a slight hillock, and he broke into a run.

“Kíli! Kíli!” He called, and the young dwarf turned, a bright smile across their face.

“Uncle Thorin! I saw the fire moon!” They exclaimed.

“Kíli, you’ve been gone for so long. Do you know that? It is already dawn, you reckless child.” He scolded, but he was relieved, scooping the dwarfling into his arms. They were shaking, and their hair was braided perfectly. Thorin squeezed them gently.

“Thorin. Your heart is strong.” They told him solemnly, and the statement seemed so…strange to him. No child should be speaking words like that, they were too young to even consider such things.

“Come, let us get you home. Your mother and father are worried about you, even cousin Norin is out looking for you.” He hoisted them up, taking a moment to just hold their body in his arms. “You are a pure soul, I am proud to call you my kin.”

They didn’t feel the need to ask about how he looked in the moonlight, for once the question wasn’t something they wanted to answer to.

Kíli slept all through the day, and the following night, waking up with the ornate hair now rumpled and lopsided just before dawn. Dís was already awake, having a drive to finish her work that often made her unable to think of anything other than finishing a piece. They came and sat beside her on the work bench. Now they’d been able to sleep and think about what Mahal had told them, they had new questions.

“Amad? Can I ask you something?” They asked, leaning against her side.

“You just did, but you can ask me more things, poppet.”

“Why does uncle Thorin’s face…why does he change in the light of a full moon?” They were hesitant to mention it, but it was necessary at this point. It was so…unusual.

“I don’t know what you mean?” She ceased work, tilting her head at them, her beads clicking together.

“Yeah! The skin becomes mottled and pale and really close to the bone, and his throat is open, and his eyes are milky.” They were a little disturbed by it, but surely Amad knew what they meant?

“I…Haven’t seen that, imunnanan.” She admitted, putting her tools down to scoop them up into her lap. “I’m sure there is a reason for it, but I haven’t seen that face. Are you certain it was not a dream?”

Their brows furrowed, and they pursed their lips. “Fine. You don’t believe me. I will ask him myself.” They decided, hopping off of her lap, pacing away.

 

Thorin was working within the forge, and Kíli slipped inside, scanning the room before sidling up to Thorin, watching the sparks fly from his hammer.

“Uncle.” They shouted, so they would be heard over the hammer. Thorin paused his work, looking over to the dwarfling. He stepped away from the anvil and the flame, kneeling down beside Kíli.

“Yes? What brings you to my forge, would you like to try smithing?” He asked, a small smile on his lips.

“No uncle. Amad didn’t believe me, but you know what I mean. Why does your face change under the moon?” They asked, little chubby fingers gripping Thorin’s cropped beard.

Thorin’s eyes were such a cold blue, calculating every move as he picked up his sister’s youngest. He took Kíli outside, and sat with them on his knee.

“In Erebor, a bad thing happened-“

“Bilbo.”

“Bilbo was not a bad thing, but something bad happened to him. He was my One, my soulmate. He knew my dark name, my secret name from Mahal.” Thorin explained. “He was born knowing it, just as I was born knowing his. Just as you are born knowing yours. I was meant to marry him, but someone killed him.” Thorin explained calmly, braiding Kíli’s messy hair. “I became so angry that I asked Mahal to curse Erebor, and indirectly cursed myself. How he looked when he died was much like I look in the moonlight. Dwalin looks like it too, and master Bifur. Uncle Gloin too, because we swore to find who hurt Bilbo.”

“But you didn’t find who did it?”

“No, little one. I didn’t find who did it. My mother and grandmother were killed, and my grandmother had apparently confessed to doing it, but she was a good lady, she was strong and had a good heart. She would never hurt Bilbo like that, she would never hurt my mother like that, or me like that. Someone else did it, and it was covered up. Your friend Ori was born just after it, and his amad died, which is why Nori and Dori take such good care of him, because he has no parents. It’s very sad, which is why I am happy to see you being a good friend to him, because he is a part of our family.” Thorin explained solemnly. “I know you want to know all of the answers, that’s why I’m telling you now. But can you answer a question for me now?”

Kíli nodded, looking up at Thorin.

“Where were you on that night? How did you get to be out there?”

“I…Promise me you will believe me, uncle.” They turned around, kneeling in his lap, holding onto his braids. “Promise me uncle.”

“I promise, imunnanan, I will believe what you tell me.” He smiled encouragingly.

“Mahal came to me in front of the fire moon, He said it was like His forge, and that He didn’t carve you to be a tragic figure, and that I’m carved specially, so I can help people.” Kíli explained, deadly serious. Thorin took a moment to process.

“What was He like, Kíli?” He had heard tales in the past about special Dwarrow having met Mahal, and this could be a similar situation.

“He was…big. Bigger than any dwarf, bigger than probably any elf. And His voice was big, but also little, and it made my head tingle.” They explained, face twisting as they tried to remember anything. “I couldn’t see His face, but His eyes were very blue, like yours!”

Thorin believed them.

“That is incredible, Kíli. I won’t tell anyone, but you can’t tell anyone either. They won’t understand about either of us. Magic is a special thing.” Thorin explained, and Kíli nodded.

By the time Kíli had gone to bed, Dís had spent hours thinking over what they had told her. Thorin came through, seeming to have a weight lifted from his shoulders. She was eating a meal that she’d purchased from the large dwarf that lived down near the mines, and a plate was set up for Thorin.

“Brother? I got food for you.” She called to him, and his gaze turned to her.

“Thank you Dís, you didn’t have to.” He came closer, coming to sit at the table opposite her, taking a small bite of the soup. It didn’t fill his stomach, he didn’t feel full in all the 20 years since Bilbo’s death.

“Kíli told me an unusual tale today.” She remarked, and he stilled for a moment, spoon resting at the bottom of the bowl.

“They did, did they?” He replied, taking a slow bite. He wasn’t good at playing coy really.

“Yes. They did.”

 She slammed her hand on the table. “This…this curse! You haven’t told me a damned thing about what it has done to you. Twenty years, Thorin! Twenty fucking years and you didn’t bother telling me a thing!”

He sighed softly, looking at the meal. “It’s changed me, Dís. I cannot pretend to know the extent of it, but you look older than I do at this point. I change under the light. Kíli was right, whatever they told you was true. I explained to them the full extent of what had happened to me. About Amad, grandmother, Bilbo.”

Dís threw his bowl over him, and stormed away muttering curses under her breath. “Tíli! We’re moving to different quarters! Pack our things! My brother is an idiot!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if people would like a timeline, i've written out the timeline until 2905 ta  
> i know exposition and scene setting is booooring but stay with me on it  
> leave comments and kudos and happy 4th july to all you amerikuns


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